


Son of a Preacher Man

by TheOCDDI (TooHotchInTheHottub)



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: AU, Freddy is a mechanic, It's just an idea I had, Larry goes home, M/M, Movie didn't happen, hope you like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:43:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooHotchInTheHottub/pseuds/TheOCDDI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larry lost his partner and his freedom after his last job. He did three years, and he's too old to do it all again. He's decided to go home to mama, to help her out at the store and to go straight.</p>
<p>He just wanted to simplify things, until he met Rev. Newandyke's son, Freddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Son of a Preacher Man

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Tarantino soundtracks, and Dusty Springfield's 'Son of a Preacher Man' is in Pulp Fiction, but since my shipper heart just keeps beating for White/Orange, this is what it inspired.
> 
> I have no idea how long this will be. I am also unsure exactly how often I will update, but I will endeavour to have most of it done before the 27th June - that's when I go back to uni.
> 
> My first fic with these two, let me know what you think.

Larry could feel summer pressing in on him. The still air was heavy and hot. The air-conditioning on the bus was busted, and the air streaming into the windows was hot. Larry’s shirt stuck to his back, a fat guy had fallen asleep across the aisle. The guy was snoring, sending great gusts of salami-scented air straight at Larry. Normally Larry would have handed the guy his ass by now, instead he fixed his hair back into place. Nothing was going to ruin this day for Larry. Not the heat, not the fat guy.  
  
The last job had gone really bad. They’d been in Texas – Larry should have known that nothing good ever happened in Texas. He’d felt off about it from the start, but Bama had said he was getting old, losing his nerve. In the end, he’d never been so disappointed to be right. Bama had trusted the wrong man, and the cops had been waiting. In the end Bama was dead and he went down for three years. Three goddamn years. It had felt like a decade. Doing time was getting harder and harder as he got older. Bama had been halfway right, he was getting old. But he did his three years, eating when told to, sleeping when told to, washing when told to, falling in with the Cabot boys for protection. Protection and competition – thirty-six long months.

So, when he got out he decided to go straight. He remembered, as a young man, just out of the marines and new to thieving, he had laughed at the old-timers trying to stay on the straight and narrow. It had been a youthful folly, thinking they were wrong, thinking he knew better.  
Bama had known better and look where that had got her, top to toe full of lead and a permanent spot in the dirt.

He should have known earlier that he didn’t know everything.

The bus pulled into his hometown, a small community is Buttfuck Nowhere, Minnesota. He used to tell people he was from Milwaukee. That’s where he wound up after the discharge, and that’s where he started his 29-year criminal career. Now he was home, ready to look after his mama. To do right by her. He should have skipped Milwaukee altogether.   
The town was in its death throes, not that it had ever been more than a speck. The small store his mother ran was on the main street, along with a drug store, barber, bank, bar and diner. The police and fire stations were in the next town over. There used to be a doctor, a white-haired old guy that had delivered Larry, but the windows of the shop were smeared with years’ worth of dust and a faded for sale sign mouldered in the window. Larry assumed that the old man had died and left no replacement. He turned away from the street, away from the church at the other end. He walked towards his home, the strains of the church meeting at his back. It was halfway through Sunday, mama would be in church, so Larry walked the five blocks to the outskirts of town. His family’s house was on a large block, right on the edge of town. A lake bordered on the back of the lot; Larry had almost drowned in it when he was four, pulled out of the water at the last minute by the collar of his shirt by his red-faced, frantic father.

Larry walked around the homestead a few times. It was smaller than he remembered, but isn’t home always like that? The outside could do with a lick of paint, and the screen door needed new hinges. Larry opened the door, his mother never locked it. What would be the point? No one was going to take anything, and if they did, it wouldn’t be worth more than the cost of replacing the door.

Inside the house was much neater than the outside, Agatha Dimmick might have been pushing 75, but she kept a clean house. Larry took his things upstairs. His room was laid out, waiting for him. Larry smiled, Agatha had left some pictures on his dresser – one of his father, his parents on the day he graduated high school and one of him in his uniform. It occurred to Larry that it was probably the most recent picture his mother had of him. He decided he’d fix that at the earliest possible opportunity. Larry changed his shirt, throwing his sweaty one in the hamper in the corner. He pulled on a white tee and went downstairs in search of a drink. The refrigerator had a pitcher of lemonade waiting for him. He poured himself a large glass, topped it with some ice cubes and went and sat on the porch. He let the cool liquid slide down his dry throat, enjoying the sting, and loving the sour aftertaste. Larry sat there for a while, losing track of the time while he drank. Soon the glass was empty and he had lit a cigarette. He was watching the brown grass, watching insects leap about, and keeping his mind empty. He felt peaceful.

A 1957 Studebaker Champion appeared in the drive. It was perfectly restored, the bottom panels painted a deep blue, the top a blue grey. It was all set off by highly polished chrome accents and if it didn’t purr like a kitten, Larry would eat his hat. He could see his mother in the passenger seat, waving out of the open window with her dainty, gloved hands. She was wearing her blue pillbox hat and Larry realised in that moment how much he’d missed her. It hit him like a wave. His gut clenched and he made a small noise that he would have identified as a breathy ‘oh’ had he been paying attention. The car pulled up and Larry rushed over to open the door. As soon as his Agatha was out of the car he pulled her into a crushing hug.   
“I’m home, Mama.” He said, as though it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. If Agatha had noticed the inanity, she didn’t say, she just squeezed him tighter. Neither of them heard the driver’s door open and close, nor did they see the young man walk around to their side of the car until they stepped away from each other. The young man stood passively watching them from behind Ray Bans. He was slight, not scrawny. His sandy hair would have hung in his eyes if it had been a tad longer, but as it was it framed his face well. He had a slightly too big nose, but he seemed to have enough character in his face to pull it off.  
“Lawrence, this is Freddy, Rev. Newandyke’s boy.” Freddy extended his right hand, while he whipped off his glasses with his left.  
“Lawrence, pleased to meet you, your mother has been talking about you, and I can see she’s glad to have you home.” The kid had a slightly nasal drawl to his voice, he sounded drowsy almost, with a real sibilance. Larry thought he liked it, especially looking into those green eyes, and watching those lips curl into a friendly smile.  
“Larry, please, only Mama calls me Lawrence, Mr. Newandyke.”  
“Call me Freddy. I worry that if people start calling me mister Newandyke, I’ll have to become a productive member of society.”  
“Where’s the fun in that?” Larry smiled at the kid and he smiled right back. “Although, if you want to avoid getting a reputation of respectability, maybe don’t drive old ladies home after church. Not that I’m not grateful.”  
“I knew I went wrong somewhere.”  
“Lawrence, you leave Freddy alone. He’s a good boy. Now, I’m going to go inside and fix us some sandwiches and lemonade, would you like to join us, Freddy?”  
“Oh, I’d love to Mrs. Dimmick, but I’ve gotta run – the folks will want to get home, and I’ve got the car. Besides, you’ve been waiting for Larry to come home for a while and I don’t wanna impose. Maybe next time?” He looked genuinely sorry to turn down the invitation, Agatha merely assured him it was alright, and resumed her path for the house. Larry stepped towards Freddy conspiratorially.  
“It’s probably just as well you don’t join us. I drank most of the lemonade while I was waiting.” Larry had talked to their shoes as he spoke, and flicked his eyes up at Freddy’s laugh. The young man smiled wide and giggled. The giggle turning into a full grown laugh when Agatha called out from the porch, “I heard that, Lawrence Dimmick! You are in some trouble, boy!” Larry had to turn away from Freddy to deliver a half-way contrite “Aw, Mama.”

By the time he turned back, Freddy was on the other side of the car again, pulling open the door.   
“It was nice to meet you, Larry. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”  
“You bet. And thanks again, for looking after Mama.”  
“She’s a nice lady. She deserves to be looked after.” Freddy got in the car then, and turned on the radio. He drove away from the house accompanied by Peaches and Herb’s Reunited.

The car glided down the driveway, Larry watched him go. Freddy waved from the end of the drive and was gone.

Larry thought about the young man, obviously in his twenties. He thought about the hair, the smile, the slope of those shoulders and that firework grin.

The kid was a goddamned picture.

The sight of Freddy rattled around in Larry’s head for the rest of the afternoon, while he ate sandwiches with his mother in the kitchen, while he fixed the screen door and while he unpacked his things. Freddy followed him all day and as Larry lay down, ready to sleep he knew.

He knew he was fucked.

But what else was new?


End file.
